It is said you cannot walk the past: the past being past. Turn your eyes to the future: your time better spent. And yet here my eyes see the stars of former orbits. There and here and do you remember. A past at hand, rather than behind. And a fear clutches my voice. For future is the void to fore, eating my path. A halo crowns him with a grim wet sky.
Memories passing in twinkling winks of promise. This time that time oh that time, a parade stands as I am run towards the maw. Abyssal teeth I hear waiting as homes break the night. They dance the rhythm of yesterday. A merry jig. A merry lie.
The homes too had teeth. They once an erebor, a waiting smog, for my journey's end. And the journey did not stop. Homes of fear and silence.
But one light, one star, a patient, quiet star, promises the Home-not-yet, the Home-not-seen. The Home at the edge and behind every mountain. Echoed in every word and every hurt. And this light dawns the rememberance: the journey past and present, future, end. And it whispers, "onward."
And I step.
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